


The Freshest Around

by daynight



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe Toye is out of commission from work due to a broken leg. All he can really do is sit around his place and order pizza. Unfortunately, he does it so frequently the pizza boy now thinks he has a crush on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freshest Around

**Author's Note:**

> No offence intended, not at all based on real men based on TV depictions completely!

Joe Toye was half way through a particularly exciting episode of ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians’ when he heard it. His own stomach, rumbling like a feral dog and signalling his hunger. He tried to ignore it. The grumbling only grew in volume until it almost drowned out the noise of Kim’s incessant, saccharine whinging. He sighed. He had no food left since his sister had last visited and didn’t want to get a cab to the store only to hobble uselessly around it’s aisles for hours on his crutches. The Chinese was closed until later and the Indian didn’t have his favourite dishes so it looked like he had no choice. There was no avoiding the inevitable. With the weary acceptance of a doomed man, he picked up his phone and began to dial the pizza company for the second time that week and the tenth time since he started his leave.

The reason for his reluctance was not the quality of the pizza or even the quality of their service. In fact, the excellence of his delivery man was what had gotten him into this pickle in the first place. After trying several other places and delivery people, he had finally found a guy who managed to get him his food on time and piping hot, everything correct and accounted for on his order. So, like any other conscientious person, he had continued to request the same guy for his frequent pizza orders whilst he was housebound. Unfortunately, the more he requested this particular pizza delivery man, the more said pizza delivery man seemed to think, entirely inappropriately, that it was not his efficiency that Joe enjoyed but him alone. This assumption had taken what was a polite but detached exchange at his doorstep to something else entirely.  Unfortunately, Joe had grown accustomed to his service and couldn’t bring himself to ask for anyone else and the cycle just continued, with ‘George’ (or so his name label read) only growing bolder with each encounter.

He knew he had arrived before he even rang the doorbell, his shitty old car, a garish bright orange, rattling down the road and blasting music that was more suited to a teenage girl getting ‘turnt’ with her friends at the sorority party. Joe could feel his lip curling already. He heaved himself off the sofa onto his crutches and went to check the window, where he saw his regular pizza man open his car door and grin at the house. Joe observed as he closed the car door, put the box up on the roof out of the way then sprayed himself with a couple long bursts of Axe from his bag. He then leaned down and self consciously touched up his messy brown hair in the wing mirror, seeming to only make himself look even more dishevelled. Perhaps that was his aim.  He then picked the box back up and began whistling towards the door. Joe proceeded to shuffle towards the entrance as his pizza guy pressed the doorbell and immediately swung open the door.

“Shit! That was quick! Eager to see me, are we?”

Joe looked at the Pizza Guy, George. He was wearing his usual uniform, a blue polo shirt and a red baseball cap with a pair of low slung cargo shorts, half of his cartoon patterned boxers hanging out. He never wore his baseball cap correctly, preferring to either wear it jammed on his head backwards, or off to the side like a member of a 90’s boy band, or even inside out with the label flapping in the breeze. Ridiculous. He grinned, showing his pointy, crooked incisors. Joe grunted.

“I just want my pizza.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Replied George in a sing-song voice. “Ta-da! Here it is, your usual spinach and ham. Very healthy, as pizza goes!” He produced the pizza box, flapping the lid open with theatrical flair. Joe took the box, leaning on his crutches.

“Thanks.”

George, not sensing any impetus to leave, leaned up against the wall, eyes scanning Joe’s cast, a picture of nonchalance.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask.” He gestured to Joe’s leg, addressing him like they were old pals and not Pizza guy and customer, as he had begun to do. “How did that happen? Unless, like, you don’t wanna talk about it.” He peered under his floppy fringe at Joe hopefully.

“I hurt it at work.”

“What do you do? If you don’t mind me asking?” Joe did kind of mind; this was all getting way too intimate. He found himself replying anyway.

“I’m a fireman.” George’s eyes widened.

“Shit, really? Woooow.” He let out a low whistle and smiled lazily. “Man, if all firemen are like you, we should start lighting more fires in the kitchen.”

“You shouldn’t do that. Fires are incredibly dangerous, not something to joke about.”

“Woah, okay Smokey the bear, I won’t.” He smiled again, bright eyes fixed on Joe, who kept his expression to his normal slight grimace. “You’re a pretty serious guy. I like that, I can work with that.”

Not sure how to reply, Joe shrugged.

“I’m not serious all the time.”  He handed George his money, along with is customary tip which George lit up at and pocketed.

“Well then,” George adjusted his hat, shoved haphazardly sideways on his head. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder. Bye, Joe, until next time.”

How he had gotten Joe’s name, he had no idea. He just let it pass.

“Until next time.” He shuffled back inside, balancing the Pizza box precariously on top of a crutch and closed the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course there was a next time. And a next, and a next, with George’s flirting growing more intense with each new encounter. He had now taken to doing odd little things, like writing ‘Have a great day!’ in a scrawl inside the pizza box or somehow getting the cooks to arrange the ham on Joe’s pizza into the shape of a smiley face. He hated to admit it, but Joe was starting to enjoy their little meetings over his pizza box, although he still grumbled about it to anyone who would listen. Bill, his friend from the Fire Station, who came over every now and again to hang out and bring him all the work gossip he was missing, just said ‘Ay, I think he’s okay, Joe. Don’t pretend you actually mind him messin’ with you.’ Bill, as it had happened, had warmed to George the pizza man almost immediately, creasing at the waist at George’s low, insanely gravelly, thickly accented and (annoyingly) accurate impression of Joe. Joe had just frowned, his brow creasing with irritation. ‘Maybe you need a bit of fun in your life, sittin’ round here and sulking all day’, Bill had insisted.

Joe didn’t need fun in his life. He was fine. He missed work, he missed being busy and actually doing things and yes, maybe he enjoyed the company that George provided, when he wasn’t cracking painfully awful jokes. Maybe George had managed to coax a couple smiles out of him, crowing with pride every time, which meant that they disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. But Joe definitely wasn’t growing fond of his Pizza guy. He would never admit to that. He just insisted that no, he didn’t have a personal preference, he just liked his pizza quickly delivered and hot and that was the reason behind his continuous requests for George, even if he was starting to doubt that himself.

 

* * *

 

Joe was enjoying a quick visit from his sister one evening when he heard to doorbell ring. He slowly made his way to the door on his crutches, wrenching it open impatiently. George stood, beaming on his doorstep.

Joe blinked.

“I didn’t order Pizza.”

“I know. The guys over at the fire station did and ‘Ol Gonnohhrea sent me over here with leftovers for their poor invalid friend.” _Great_ , thought Joe, _Bill and the pizza guy have progressed into nickname territory_. This could only spell trouble for him.

“Thanks. That was kind of them. ” He muttered sarcastically, taking the box.

“You look nice! All dressed up.” Joe looked down at himself. He was wearing trousers and a clean button up, different from his usual sweatpants and t-shirt combo. “Got a date?” George flicked his hair away from his face casually, shuffling his worn sneakers.

“No.”

“Oh. Seems a shame to waist the outfit. Wanna let me in, instead?” Another one of George’s weird jokes. Joe sighed deeply.

“I don’t have a date. My sister’s here.” George’s face broke in to a massive grin.

“Oh man, now you gotta let me in. Is she hot? Hotter than you?”

“Goodbye, George…” Joe swung the door shut in George’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

Too much pizza was taking its toll, along with the long spells of being sedentary, lying on the couch with his cast on the coffee table. Accustomed to being fighting fit, Joe decided to finally defy doctor’s orders and start trying to build his strength back. His health kick didn't stop him ordering from George's shop, though. It was just too convenient. At least, that's how he justified it to himself. 

The doorbell rang whilst Joe was in the middle of a strenuous pull up set in his doorframe. Swearing quietly, he gingerly settled himself down and hoisted himself back onto his crutches to answer the door. 

"Joe! How is my favourite grouchy pizza-eating fireman today?" George, hat backwards with his fringe sticking through the front, looked up from his pizza box and almost fell backwards in surprise.

"Fuck! Warn a guy!" 

"What?" 

"If you’re gonna start wandering around like that can you at least put it in the delivery notes? Almost gave me a fucking heart attack.” George held his hand to his chest exaggeratedly, ever the clown, but with a noticeable blush even his usual bluster couldn’t hide.

Joe cocked an eyebrow at him, slightly amused at this flabbergasted reaction.

“You never seen a shirtless guy on a delivery before?”

“Yeah, of course I have!” Spluttered George. “Trust me; I have seen a lot of weird shit you wouldn’t even believe, bare chests are on the tamer end of the scale.” He looked Joe up and down, slightly recovered and unsubtly appraising him with badly disguised glee. “The exhibitionists never usually look like you, though.”

Taking his pizza and setting it aside, Joe crossed his arms, slightly self conscious. This only led to George staring with extreme focus at his biceps.

“Huh?” Joe grunted. George managed to reluctantly drag his gaze away from Joe’s torso to look back at his face. He leaned up against the wall, accepting the money that Joe handed him with a casual air.

“I mean, they’re usually the kinda people you would never wanna see naked in a million years, if you know what I mean. Like old fat guys in their Y-fronts. This, however -” George gestured between the two of them languidly. “I think I saw this exact scene in a porno I watched last week.” He clicked his fingers, seeming to come to some kind of conclusion, and then pointed at Joe with a cheesy wink.

“You’re trying to seduce me.” He stated with confidence, leering suggestively. Joe kneaded his temple. These jokes were starting to get out of hand.

“Bye George.” Joe unceremoniously slammed the door closed in George’s face, which was beginning to be their standard farewell. George never minded, he just laughed uproariously, amused at Joe’s temper.  

“Well, it’s working!” Sounded from behind the door. Joe snorted to himself, shaking his head. George the pizza guy, always the joker. He heaved himself over to the window to watch George leave. It was kind of funny to see him try to start that piece-of-shit car, with its rusted exhaust and fluffy novelty dice, more entertaining than reality TV.  Always took him at least five minutes. 

Squinting out of his window, Joe watched George skip towards his car, smiling widely. He opened his door (with difficulty) and settled into the driving seat. Joe observed as he sat idly for a second, looking a touch punch-drunk, then screwed his eyes shut and put his hands together in mock prayer. He mimed towards the heavens and fervently mouthed ‘Thank you baby Jesus’ skywards.  After this strange little ritual, George began the tricky task of starting his vehicle, smiling the entire time in a sort of sweet way, gentler than his usual toothy grin, fonder. Joe could almost hear him humming to himself.

The side of Joe’s mouth twitched and he quickly looked away. _Fuck_. When did it get so hot in his living room?

 

* * *

 

 

Pizza deliveries were always an eventful break in the monotony of Joe’s healing period. Once, when opening the door for George, Joe tripped a bit with his crutches and ended up in an awkward heap on the floor. _Well this is fucking great_ , he thought, his pathetic situation reminding him of one of the old ladies from a life-alert commercial (‘Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!’). Grimacing, he gruffly called out to the Pizza man just outside.

“Hey, George.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m…” He closed his eyes. _He will never let me hear the end of this_.  “I’m on the fucking floor. Can you give me a hand?”

A sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door and George stormed in; face more serious and worried than Joe had ever seen it, even when his car started emitting a thick black smoke that one time.

“Shit, Joe! Are you okay?” Joe sighed, resigned. George was immediately kneeling on the floor of the hallway, gingerly helping him up.

“I’m fine.” George brushed his knees off, helping him settle back onto his crutches with care, eyes darting between his pained expression and his cast. His brow wrinkled.

“You sure?” He still had hold of his arm, steadying him. Joe stared at his hand until George slowly removed it with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah.” Joe cleared his throat. “You drop the pizza on the pavement or somethin’?”

“Oh shit!” George chuckled, scrubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed but also with an air of relief. “I dunno, I might have. I was worried so I rushed.” He opened the door and smiled. “Nah, it’s okay! Just on the steps.” He picked it up. “Here ya go.” After Joe took it, George backed out of the door, hands shoved into his pockets. Before he left, he turned around, strangely serious, eyes steady with concern.

“Be careful, okay?”

“Sure.” Joe dismissed. Although he waited for George to make fun of him for his inelegant swan dive, the jokes never came. He never mentioned it on any subsequent deliveries. That didn’t mean that Joe didn't think about it sometimes though, when he was alone, watching TV at night. For someone who barely seemed able to look after himself, George the pizza guy was actually pretty capable at taking care of someone. Wasn't that a surprise?

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a couple of months since injuring his leg and becoming confined to his place and Joe had some of his friends round from the fire station for a small celebration. He was getting his cast off the next day and very, very pleased about it. George came over with several boxes of pizza, cheery as ever, paying special attention to Joe with many pointed jibes and jokes that had his friends (who were supposed to be on his side, goddamnit) rolling on the floor. Bill knew George well now, Babe liked him, Lip was practically his best friend, Malarkey thought he was hilarious and even Liebgott thought he was a hell of a guy. He had become the regular pizza guy of the whole damn team at the fire station.  His friends told Joe that  George just picked on him because he was so easily riled and funny when annoyed, growling curse words in his raspy tones, but Joe noticed George’s gags were never bad natured and always said with a gentleness that softened any intended blow. Joe was getting more comfortable with him now, they’d developed a kind of a rapport in which George would make a joke at Joe’s expense and he’d reply with his usual grim aggressive wit, mostly threatening some form of bodily harm, the kind of thing that would normally turn a guy a little pale.  George would just laugh like Joe had cracked a harmless joke of his own and carry on undeterred. The boys from the fire station always rushed to the door when they were ‘round to watch the Pizza exchange because they said it was like watching some kind of comedy skit (grumpy cop, zany cop), to which Joe reacted with exaggerated resentment. He didn't really mind. They did seem to work oddly in sync, him and pizza guy George. He even knew quite a lot about him now, a college student who worked at the Pizza place for spare cash (NOT for weed, surprisingly, but for travelling).

“Have you told him?” Bill asked, settling down on the sofa next to Joe with a beer in hand.

“Told who what?”

“George. That you’re getting your cast off.” Joe made a face.

“Why would I tell George?” Bill shrugged.

“He might wanna know.”

“He delivers my pizzas. He’s not my fuckin’ mother.”

“Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. I just thought it would be nice. He cares about you, you know?”

“He cares about my tips.” Snorted Joe. Bill eyed him with a disbelieving expression.

“He’s my pizza guy!” Joe repeated with emphasis, growing more frustrated with the conversation than was probably necessary. Bill looked like he might laugh but luckily thought better of it.

“Never mind then. Hey, how long until you can play football with us again once you get that thing off?” Joe, feeling oddly discomforted, grabbed another beer and pondered the question, trying to push all other thoughts out of his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

The cast came off perfectly, no issues and Joe began to get back into his life again. It was amazingly refreshing to be able to get around again, to go to work, to go to the supermarket; just to be able to walk at more than a fucking snail’s pace was a huge improvement on his emotional state. A few weeks passed and despite his renewed freedom he couldn't shake the strange feeling that something was missing.

He knew what it was. He just didn't want to admit it.

He didn't want to admit that he missed a lazy, pointy toothed smile. He missed bad jokes and corny innuendos. He missed scruffy brown hair and badly worn baseball caps and caring glances. The only thing he didn't miss about George’s visits was the fucking pizza, Joe had consumed so much of it he didn't think he could ever eat it again in his life. Nevertheless, he decided to make one last order.

George’s orange car rattled up to Joe’s house even quicker than usual, squeaking into a parking spot. Joe began padding towards the door, not bothering to check the window. The bell rang and he opened it quickly, feeling an odd sense of apprehension, something entirely new to him. He usually didn't give a shit about running into burning buildings, why was he scared about a chat with his pizza guy? It just didn’t make any sense. 

George was kicking at the front step with his dirty sneaker. He looked up and saw Joe and immediately straightened, grinning that huge excited smile of his. Joe felt something in his chest tighten.

“Hey, man.” Joe’s nervousness was making him even blunter than normal. He cursed himself inwardly.

“Hey!” George said. “Here’s your pizza.” George handed it over with unfamiliar formality. He coughed, eyes darting about uneasily. “You didn't order for ages, I thought you’d dropped dead or something.” He twitched his nose.

“I was kind of busy.” Joe pointed down to his leg, free in a pair of basketball shorts. George’s face lit up.

“Oh!”

“Had to take some time to get back on schedule.”

“That’s great. I’m really happy for you.” He sounded completely genuine, not a hint of irony. He kind of surged forward, like he was considering hugging Joe but thought better of it, arms hanging uselessly at his sides.

“Plus.” Joe continued, leaning against his door. “I think I really fucking hate pizza now.” He ushered George inside the hall, where he felt around in his pockets for his money, before remembering that he had paid online for a change. George was staring around wondrously at his place, apparently trying to take everything in.

“Is that why you ordered something different to your usual?” George stopped gazing around the place and nosed about in the box.  “Oh man, pepperoni and pineapple. This is the best.”

“That’s ‘cuz it’s for you.” Joe averted his eyes, focusing on the clock on the wall, clenching his jaw in a vain effort to seem cool and casual. “Thought we could maybe hang out, or something.” He trailed off as George failed to respond, staring at the pizza. “You free after this delivery?”

“I’m working ‘til 11.”

“Oh, well that’s-“

“Hang on.” George closed the front door behind them and dug around in his pockets for his phone. He dialed a number and gave Joe a carefree smile as it rang, mouthing ‘one second!’ and tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hi! Mr Sobel?” George laughed, running his hand through his hair. “I quit. Yeah, sorry. Okay, I’m gonna go now. Bye.”

Joe stared at him blankly, setting the pizza down, as George sent him another smile.

“The fuck…” George shrugged.

“I fuckin’ hated that place. I only stayed because of you.” Joe was too stunned by this statement to take in that George was flinging off his baseball cap and throwing it in the direction of his living room. George then proceeded to strip off his blue polo shirt, revealing a stripy wife-beater underneath and a fair amount of stomach in the process. _Since when do pizza delivery boys have abs?_

“Freedom!” He turned, dazzling Joe with his grin and his messed up hair and, in his joy, grabbed him by the waist, dipping him into deep and romantic and highly unexpected but not necessarily unwanted kiss. Getting over the initial shock, Joe, like a sucker, melted into it, feeling warm all over.  George was a surprisingly good kisser, and stronger than he looked, judging by the way he had Joe swept up in his arms. They continued kissing like a couple in some old romance, George’s arm beginning to snake down towards Joe’s ass in a motion that was a lot less subtle than he probably intended.

“MFFFPPP”

“Huh? Oh sorry! I got carried away.” George drew away, mouth red and eyes shiny. “I am so fuckin’ happy you asked me to come make out with you dude. I've been thinking about this forever.”

“Hang out.”

“Wha?”

“I said hang out.” Joe tried his best to scowl.

George shrugged again, laughing, eyes crinkling. Joe felt his mouth twisting into a reluctant smile too.

“Well shit, I guess we can do that too?”

**Author's Note:**

> ho ho ho now i'm hungry.
> 
> have sum [ rick gomez as an oddly menacing pizza boy from the 90's ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTCLTkynZkc&feature=youtu.be&t=41s%20) to go w/ this incredibly indulgent fic.


End file.
